The Quantifiable Connection
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: Amy is concerned about Sheldon's strange behavior. She resolves to distract him with a trip to see "Interstellar," but it only reinforces the feelings with which he's struggling. Shamy.
1. Social Utility

**A/N:** Hello there. This is my first story in the world of "The Big Bang Theory." It will be very short—no more than two or three chapters. Let me know if you enjoy this first installment and would like to read the rest.

This story has **major spoilers for the film _Interstellar_****_. _** The story will also be much richer if you've seen the movie, but it's not _strictly _necessary.

One other note: this story takes place in a universe where the prom episode never happened. (Don't worry. This is still an unabashedly Shamy story.) Let me know what you think!

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><p><strong>The Quantifiable Connection<strong>

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><p>He wasn't quite himself lately. He didn't object as vehemently to her displays of affection, and he seemed perpetually nervous. The first part was wonderful; the second part concerned her. Unfortunately, he seemed determined to maintain his silence about whatever troubled him.<p>

Rather than aggravate him with further inquiries, she resolved to distract with him Anything Goes Thursday. A movie struck her as a good idea. But which one?

Great care was taken with her decision. After the disastrous viewing of Nicolas Cage's _Left Behind_ (they were escorted from the theater following thirty minutes of Sheldon's "agnostic commentary track"), she was feeling a little gun-shy.

She consulted Leonard, Howard, and Raj for their assessment of a new science fiction film's plausibility. And she was pleasantly surprised when they reported that it was realistic. Her next step was a subtle inquiry into Sheldon's assessment of Matthew McConaughey.

Sheldon narrowed his eyes. "He has a certain everyman quality—like the 50-percent-off models in an LL Bean catalogue."

"Is that a good thing?" she asked.

"If you want a tweed jacket without the guilt of overspending."

She frowned as he left the room. Well, that didn't help. She needed more data. An exhaustive search of the internet revealed mostly favorable reviews. There were a few elements that could potentially make him uncomfortable, though: a turbulent parent/child relationship; sexual tension between the leads; a robot capable of withholding information; and ruminations on the cosmology of love.

She took a day to consider the data in sum before finally arriving at a conclusion: she would suggest they see _Interstellar_.

"It's supposed to be very good," Amy said as he prepared her Chamomile tea.

"Well, I don't know," Sheldon said skeptically. "I'm starting to question Christopher Nolan's judgment. Why would he choose Kip Thorne as his science consultant when I was just down the hall for triple the price?"

"Everyone with whom I've spoken suggests the movie is excellent," Amy assured him. She gave a shy smile, touching his knuckles, and added: "Plus, I'll get to hold your hand."

"Congratulations. Our disagreement is now a hostage negotiation."

Amy's face set in a scowl. After a long moment, his eyes softened. He slid her tea toward her and said without annoyance: "Very well. I will suffer your _Interstellar_."

Her scowl dissolved into a smile. She let her fingers linger on his, and he didn't pull away.

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><p>Sheldon stared at the 32 oz cup with a deep frown. "No, that's too big. I want something smaller."<p>

"I'm sorry, sir," the teenager replied politely. "This is the smallest we have."

"The smallest you have? This cup would make _Doctor Manhattan_ go potty!"

"I could try cutting it in half."

"I'm going to take that statement as confirmation that Common Core is failing."

Amy lay a hand on his arm "Why don't we share? We can get two straws."

Sheldon's eyes widened. For a moment, he gave her a look like she were mad. But then his face slowly relaxed.

She waited patiently for his objection, but it never materialized. He gave the cashier a docile nod and took out his wallet to pay. Curious, she thought. It was almost as if he enjoyed the idea—as if her germs weren't abhorrent to him. Outside of their occasional kisses, he was never so cavalier about hygiene and bacteria.

When he realized she was watching him, a faint blush crept into his cheeks. He took their drink and popcorn and hurried toward the theater.

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><p>She gave him a sidelong glance, finding him tapping his foot nervously. His brow was creased in the slightest worry. "Are you okay?" she asked.<p>

His eyes snapped up. He gave a comical shake of his head like a dog getting dry. "Yes. Sorry," he mumbled.

His voice was strangely contrite. And despite her better judgment, she reached over to grasp his hand. His eyes flashed with annoyance, but he couldn't maintain the ruse. He stared at their laced fingers, and after a moment, his foot ceased tapping. A tranquil look appeared on his face.

Amy's heart fluttered in her chest.

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><p>He hadn't said a word the entire movie. It wasn't necessarily atypical for Sheldon (he wasn't <em>usually<em> as rude as some people might assert), but with this movie so full of scientific intrigue, she'd expected some comment. Yet he was quiet as a church mouse.

Amy watched him out of the corner of her eye as Cooper and Brand sparred on the screen.

"You're a scientist, Brand," Cooper scoffed.

"So listen to me," Brand implored him, "when I say that love isn't something that we invented. It's observable. Powerful. It has to mean something."

"Love has meaning, yes," Cooper replied patiently. "Social utility, social bonding, child rearing..."

Amy dropped her eyes briefly. Social utility; social bonding. Is that all this relationship was—Sheldon capitulating to convention? They had a written agreement, after all.

_No_, she thought. Surely he'd kiss her even without a PDF. There were no clauses that compelled him to drink from the same cup.

She looked up at Sheldon. His face was taut; some strange, bewildered light shone in his eyes. His grip on her hand tightened, but he didn't seem to notice her.

"We love people who've died!" Brand fired back. "Where's the social utility in that?"

"None," Cooper admitted.

"Maybe it means something more—something we can't yet understand," Brand continued desperately. "Maybe it's some evidence, some artifact of a higher dimension that we can't consciously perceive. I'm drawn across the universe to someone I haven't seen in a decade who I know is probably dead."

Sheldon's foot tapped the floor. His back was set in rigid intensity. Furious anger and childish wonder seemed to ooze as one substance from the pores of his pale face.

"Love is the one thing," Brand said, "that we're capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that—even if we can't understand it."

Sheldon's foot slowed its rhythm before finally stilling. The strange array of emotions gave way to a catatonic countenance. His hand went slack in Amy's. And for the next hour, only the most perceptive observer (Amy) could make out the subtle changes in his expression.

She'd never seen him so rattled. And it was starting to terrify her.

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><p>An uncomfortable silence lingered as they exited the theater. Sheldon's shoulders were raised and stiff; black shadows anchored his face. He looked every bit the helpless koala, and she wanted to take him in her arms. But she kept a respectful distance, maintaining an even voice.<p>

"I was fascinated by the effect of the black hole on the passage of time," Amy said.

Sheldon made an effort to sound like his normal self. "Time is relative, even on earth."

"Really?"

"Yes. If I were to stand on the tenth floor of a building while you stood on the ground level, time would pass slightly slower for you," Sheldon explained. He waited a beat and added: "Time also slows when Penny's talking."

Amy smiled slightly. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. He flinched but allowed it. "Is it possible to survive a black hole in the way they portrayed it?"

"Theoretically, there are trajectories that would allow it."

"What about the Tesseract? Is it possible, theoretically, to construct a place that transcends space-time?"

He gave a halfhearted scowl and said: "Amy, if you want a long-form discussion of space-time, watch my 1,257-part series on Vine."

She'd learned a long time ago that his tone mattered more than his words. His voice was strained—sad; there was no trace of real annoyance. His stoic facade, carefully erected to prevent observation, had temporarily dropped.

Amy moved into his path, startling him. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Amy Farrah Fowler, what are you doing?" he demanded.

She trained a sweet but firm gaze on him. "Sheldon, what's wrong?"

He swallowed. "Wrong?"

"Something's obviously bothering you. Please just tell me what it is so I can help."

Sheldon's nose twitched. His lips parted before his mouth snapped shut again. He shoved his hands in his pockets to mask their fidgeting. "Nothing's wrong," he replied mildly.

Amy thought back on the movie. "Sheldon, what's your honesty parameter?"

He recovered enough to roll his eyes. "Absolute honesty isn't always the most diplomatic—nor the safest—form of communication with emotional beings."

"Since when do you worry about being diplomatic?"

"Since I met someone I can't conceive to be without."

Amy's breath caught. Realizing his admission, Sheldon quickly steeled his eyes. He glowered at her and gestured toward the car. "If you're quite finished, it would be cordial to take me home."

He slid past her and continued walking, his long strides heavy and graceless. Amy stared after him, sympathy and frustration stitching themselves together. She wanted so badly to help him, but her thoughts were beginning to turn inward: would she lose him to his fear of needing her? The notion must be repellant to such a self-sufficient man.

She thought of her life before she found Sheldon, and her heart sank in her chest. She'd rather die than be without him. It was this thought that swirled through her mind as they drove home in silence.


	2. Invention or Constant

A/N: Hello! Thanks so much to everyone who took the team to provide feedback on the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this second installment. I'll offer the same warning as before: this story will **include spoilers for the film _Interstellar_.**

Please take a moment to leave me a review and let me know what you think!

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><p>They drove in silence—not the companionable kind where they enjoyed each other's presence. This was awkward, sullen—full of mystery and fear.<p>

Sheldon appeared a million miles away. She could almost picture him on a distant planet digging a trench with CASE. He had a deathly serious energy that was totally alien to her.

The great tragedy of a brilliant mind is that it finds black caverns hidden to the rest of us. Time and imagination are the stuff of pain and fear. She could only imagine what hell his mind was navigating. And she wished she were right there with him, so she could finally understand.

"Why did he do it?" Sheldon asked.

Amy jumped, swerving slightly before steadying the wheel. She took in his distant expression out of the corner of her eye. "Who?"

"Cooper. Why did he go after her?"

Amy thought for long a moment, wondering what he wanted to hear. She gave a small shrug. "I don't know. Maybe he loved her. Or maybe she was the only one who understood that kind of loneliness."

"Or maybe he's just crazy," Sheldon mumbled.

Amy frowned, glancing to her right. Her empty-eyed boyfriend stared out the window.

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><p>Over his objections, she walked him to the door. She wasn't sure why; he wouldn't invite her in or recover spontaneously from his emotional malady. But somehow it felt necessary.<p>

He stuck his key into the lock before regarding her over his shoulder. "I don't need a chaperon to enter my own apartment." It was a very 'Sheldon' thing to say, but there was still no bite; he was going through the motions.

Amy risked a step closer, hiding her hurt when he flinched. "Sheldon..." She glanced at her feet. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

His eyes flickered with emotion before the light died again. His mouth pinched down at the corners. A small crease formed in his forehead. "Good night, Amy Farrah Fowler."

He turned his key, giving only a tepid smile before he moved through the door and shut it.

Amy stared at the door long after it closed. She could hear clipped chatter on the other side, but she couldn't make out the words. Her stomach was all knots; her mind was a wheel, and each of her thoughts was a mouse that made it spin.

She was helpless and afraid. She couldn't fathom what would become of her without him. Before she met Sheldon, she was good at being alone; she'd had no sense of how rich life could be. But now she'd tasted happiness, companionship, and she couldn't go back.

As she drove home, silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

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><p>Leonard tracked his roommate's somber walk to the kitchen. Sheldon's head was down, shoulders rolled forward. He looked like a scolded dog.<p>

"Hey, buddy," Leonard said, setting down his PS4 controller. "Everything okay?"

Sheldon poured a glass of water, keeping his eyes trained on the table. "Yes," he mumbled.

Leonard gave him an appraising look. "Doesn't sound like it."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Because you're so much smarter than me?"

Sheldon glanced up to find his friend scowling. "Because _I_ don't understand."

Leonard's eyes softened. "Did something happen with Amy?"

Fear coursed through Sheldon's body. The mere mention of her name coiled his muscles. What madness that he was at a woman's mercy. Twenty-eight years as an asexual intellectual—as the future face of human discovery—obliterated by his chemical reactions to one female.

He'd thought he had a handle on it. He'd thought he could allow himself the comfort of Amy's company without it consuming him. But even Sheldon, in his infinite wisdom, had submitted to the lure of aesthetically pleasing flesh.

It was all unraveling. All his plans for the future were unspooling and vanishing.

Sheldon ran his thumb over the condensation on his glass. "Your girlfriend took me to see a psychic."

"What? When?"

"A few months ago. You remember—the girls were menstruating, so they had a secret get-together at the bar? Penny was disgruntled?"

Leonard rolled his eyes, withholding comment on the offensive inference. He was surprised at the very serious look on Sheldon's face. "So... what did the psychic tell you?"

"That the only way to solve my professional problems was to commit myself to Amy," Sheldon said with disgust. "How asinine is that? What hogwash! Einstein didn't need some vixen to discover relativity."

Leonard smiled slightly. "We all find our inspiration somewhere. Who's to say yours isn't Amy?"

"Leonard, do you hear yourself?" Sheldon scoffed. "This is real life—not a Nicholas Sparks novel."

"Love doesn't have to be maudlin," Leonard countered.

Sheldon's eyes widened. "Love? _Love_? Who said anything about love? I'm not in love!" A look of panic broke out on his face. His head shook vehemently. "And—and even if I were, love is just the brain's way of preserving routine and patterns—and—familiarity—and—I'm not in love! That's preposterous! Why would you even say that?"

Leonard slowly eased down on the kitchen stool, treating his friend like a cornered animal. He remained perfectly still and chose his next words carefully.

"Look, I get it. It's hard to wrap your mind around," Leonard said gently. "I used to think love was just neurons and hormones. The idea of a transcendent experience was... laughable. Or, to use your word: asinine." He glanced off, eyes bright with the light of memory. "But then I met Penny."

"And you succumbed to cultural programming," Sheldon replied helpfully.

Leonard sighed. "Sheldon, isn't it possible that there's aspects of the human experience we simply don't understand yet? That the universe is bigger than what fits in your lab?"

For a brief moment, Sheldon seemed to consider his friend's point. But his face quickly hardened. "The universe is only as big as what we've verified."

"That's a cop-out," Leonard fired back. "If you really believed that, you wouldn't be a _theoretical_ physicist; you'd be an _applied_ physicist. Your whole job is staring into the unknown. You're trying to verify the unverified."

"Based on sound assumptions derived from empirical evidence."

Leonard frowned. He thought for a long moment before nodding to himself. "Okay. You want empirical evidence? You're a germaphobe who abhors human contact and never even _considered_ the possibility of being with a woman. Now you're holding hands, planning Valentines Days, and kissing on the lips." He paused to let it sink in. "What explanation could there be, besides love, for that fundamental change?"

Sheldon swallowed. He paced to the sink, flexing his hands nervously. "Brain parasite," he muttered. "Or peer pressure. Or a brain parasite that feeds on my chemical response to peer pressure."

"Is it a brain parasite that makes you love your MeeMaw?"

"That's different!"

"How?" Sheldon's mouth opened, then closed, before twisting into a glower. His eyes were two pools of melting steel. "Look, buddy," Leonard said softly, "I know it's hard to get attached to people. It's hard to accept that you need someone. And I know you've been burned. I know a lot's been taken from you." He slid off the stool, moving to the other side of the counter. He leaned back and took in Sheldon's miserable profile. "But you can't live your life not having things out of fear that you could lose them."

Sheldon pursed his lips together. The skin on his face was pulled taut like a concentrating Sith. Leonard's heart constricted at his friend's apparent pain.

Sheldon thought of his Pop Pop six feet beneath the earth. He calculated the rate of decomposition so he could picture the man's body. If the equation was correct, Pop Pop's eyes were bony tunnels for little worms.

He thought of his father, a pile of ashes Mom had removed from the mantle for Sheldon's benefit. How surreal that the hulking man was reduced to mere dust. Yet somehow Sheldon could still smell his whiskey breath.

After a long moment, he narrowed his eyes sadly. "What if she leaves?"

"She won't," Leonard promised.

"How do you know?"

Leonard move to the sink so that he was inches from his friend. He gave him a rare touch on the arm. "Because love isn't something we invented," he said gently. "It's not a faucet you switch off. It's just _there_."

A long silence filled the room. Sheldon disappeared into contemplation. His eyes darted side to side in an homage to REM sleep. He looked tired and lost, but his frustration ebbed away.

He turned slowly and moved to the edge of the hallway. He glanced back politely. "Goodnight, Leonard."

"Goodnight, Sheldon," his friend replied softly.

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><p>He tried counting sheep, but his mind's eye gave him an incompetent shepherd; the sheep roamed aimlessly, causing him to lose track.<p>

He resolved to count the U.S. Presidents, choosing one accomplishment for each. But he got stuck on James Polk. Even a man of Sheldon's intellect couldn't conceive of a Polk success.

In a last-ditch effort, he re-read in his head issues one through eighty-five of X-Men. But he was no closer to sleep when Wolverine gutted his last foe.

This simply wasn't working. Sleep wouldn't come. Perhaps if he woke Leonard, they could share some hot cocoa.

Sheldon slipped out of bed and moved toward the door. He was halfway there when the floor opened up. He let out a violent shriek as he dropped through a gaping hole into a human-sized shaft. He hurtled through darkness at what felt like the speed of light, screaming the whole way.

After a terrifying descent, the shaft spat him into some strange black void. And without gravity, his body tumbled and spun until he finally reached a wall. He held on for dear life.

The wall seemed to be made of thin bands of light. And as his eyes refocused, he discovered it was translucent. On the other side of the wall, he could make out Amy's living room.


End file.
